Fox News host Greg Gutfeld sparked controversy this week -- at least in Canada -- by poking fun at our military. This twaddle-fest-in-a-teapot has been dissected to death by the media, but there's still one angle that interests me.

For those who missed it, on Red Eye, a late-night talk show of which I had never heard, Gutfeld laughed at the notion that Canada has proposed taking a break after military operations in Afghanistan.

Here's a slice of his humour: "The Canadian military wants to take a breather to do some yoga, paint landscapes, run on the beach in gorgeous white capri pants." Added Gutfeld: "Isn't this the perfect time to invade this ridiculous country?"

Granted, Gutfeld's supposed side-splitters don't make a tremendous lot of sense. But I guess the gist is that Canada is an effete Tickle Me Elmo compared to the U.S., a machine-gun-toting GI Joe action figure. That Canada has the audacity to include itself as a legitimate player in the global military arena apparently irritated Gutfeld, a citizen of the greatest, most awesomely kick-ass country in the world.

It's all pretty silly, of course. But then you have to realize most Americans regard Canada (if they regard us at all) as a freezing wilderness populated by boring lumberjacks who say "eh" a lot.

Many Canuck scribes indignantly berated our American cousin for denigrating our men and women in uniform. Those with slightly more sophisticated viewpoints (including the Times Colonist's Jack Knox) pointed out that we're too quick to be insulted by this kind of thing. After all, who cares about some Howard Stern wannabe on Fox News, which surely ranks as the most lunk-headed journalistic enterprise ever.

What interested me the most was Gutfeld's defensive mea culpa. In a prepared statement, he explained his show is merely a "satirical take on the news." Thus, by implication, it's OK. It's just a joke, folks. Gawd. What's wrong with you igloo-warmers, anyway?

I love this use of the word "satire." You hear it all the time. Comics, for example, will say the most amazingly brutal and vulgar things these days. Everything is seemingly grist for the mill: Rape, pedophilia, bestiality, any form of violence, you name it. And if anyone is unhip enough to cry foul, the defence is, "Hey grandad. It's satire. What's wrong with you, anyway?"

Implying that Canada is a wimpy, capri-panted country isn't satire. It's merely a lame attempt at humour. It's the equivalent of pointing at an office-mate's garish new shirt (possibly on sale at Winner's) and saying, "Hey, is that ever a stupid shirt. It's so ... stupid." There's no wit at work here. Unlike satire, there's certainly no notion of righting a social wrong, or challenging people's misconceptions about the world. It's just an insult, played for gut laughs.

In bona fide satire, the perpetrator often puckishly assumes, in exaggerated form, the mindset of the party he or she is attempting to skewer. A good example is Stephen Colbert, pretending to be an ultra-conservative U.S. commentator in order to deliver a reverse message: that many such commentators are idiots. The Monty Python crew skewered the inanity of British life by recasting mind-numbingly ordinary situations -- a trip to the cheese shop, for example -- in an absurd manner. While more abstract, this is satire, too.

Satire needn't be tasteful. The most celebrated example, routinely cited, is Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal. In his 18th-century essay, Swift suggested the Irish poor might make quick bucks by selling their children to the rich as mouth-watering delicacies. Awful. But if you read the essay, you know it's clever and well-written. Not that it wouldn't get many Canadian journalists up in arms today. "Selling kids for food? Say ... wait a minute!"

The plays of 16th-century dramatist Ben Jonson were satirical. Joseph Heller's novel Catch-22, a hilarious critique of bureaucracy, is satirical. Such writers were outraged by society's failings, and had a real interest in social change.

Rather than just saying "this is wrong," they attempted to shift opinion in a clever manner. If you hit precisely the right note with humour, it can be more devastating than a hundred earnest speeches.